


she laughs like god (her mind's like a diamond)

by hayley0613



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Many more characters to be added - Freeform, Parent Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29648013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayley0613/pseuds/hayley0613
Summary: Meda Wayne. Orphan. Socialite. Heiress. Vigilante. She is many things, but how she got there? Well, that's another story.The story of an OC adopted daughter of Bruce Wayne, from Batman; Year One to the current timeline.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Original Female Character(s), Barbara Gordon & Original Female Character(s), Bruce Wayne & Original Female Character(s), Cassandra Cain & Original Female Character(s), Damian Wayne & Original Female Character(s), Dick Grayson & Original Female Character(s), Jason Todd & Original Female Character(s), Meda Carter Wayne (OC), Stephanie Brown & Original Female Character(s), Tim Drake & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

It was a chilly December day before the night that Meda Wayne’s life was set on the course that would define it. Only, she wasn’t Meda Wayne back then, you see, Gotham’s beloved daughter and heiress to the Wayne family fortune. No, she was just a little girl named Meda Carter, and although she knew she didn’t have very much, she was happy. Her mother and father were the kindest, best people in the world in her eyes, and even though they lived in a small apartment in the Narrows, (which even at five, Meda could understand meant a not-very-nice part of Gotham) she knew herself to be very lucky. 

On the particular morning our story starts, Meda was sitting on the couch in what could charitably be called her living room, bouncing up and down in anticipation. It was the first day of Christmas break, and her father had brought in enough money from his odd jobs around the city to take the little family out to the movies. The little girl had been wanting to see this particular film for weeks now, and she couldn’t believe she had to wait all day before they could leave. Her mother had suggested she distract herself by turning on the television, and so there Meda was, flipping through the channels when she stopped on something curious. 

She recognized one of the news programs from the blue ribbon wrapped around the bottom of the screen, but instead of the usual flashing lights and crime scene tape that she’d come to associate with the news, the camera was focused on a man, walking through what appeared to be an airport. He was young and handsome, with dark hair and striking blue eyes. He was surrounded by reporters and cameramen, and a curious Meda turned up the volume on the television to hear what the reporter was saying about him. 

“The twenty-five year old heir to the Wayne billions declined to comment on the rumors of romance in his life, or on his plans on his return to Gotham after twelve years abroad,” a woman with a short brown bob was saying.

“Who’s that, mommy?” Meda asked as her mother entered the room from the bedroom. 

Eliza Carter glanced at the TV and blinked in surprise. “That’s Bruce Wayne.” She took a seat next to her daughter on the couch and stared at the screen intently. “Wonder what brought him back to town.” 

“Probably got bored of running through his trust fund in Europe,” James Carter said as he came into the room. He leaned down to give his wife a kiss on the cheek and his daughter one on the forehead. “Morning, girls.”

“What’s a trust fund?” Meda asked curiously.

“It’s a big bank account that rich people have,” her father explained, lifting her up and settling her on his lap. “You know the big tower in the middle of the city?” Meda nodded, “That’s his family’s company. He owns it. And he lives in a big house on the outskirts of Gotham City that our apartment could fit in over a hundred times.”

“No way!” Meda exclaimed. 

“Way!” Her father confirmed, then sighed. “And it all belongs to that one lucky S.O.B.”

“What’s an S.O.B?” Meda asked, confused. 

“James,” her mother chided, with a glance in her daughter’s direction. “Be nice.You know what the poor man’s been through.”

“Bad things happen to people every day in this town,” her father countered. “The rest of us don’t have a mansion and a billion-dollar fortune to fall back on.”

“What bad thing happened to him?” Meda asked, pointing at the screen. 

“Don’t you go giving a thought to people like Bruce Wayne, sweetheart,” her father said dismissively. “Lord knows he doesn’t give a thought to people like us.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Meda Carter had no way of knowing, but this day was significant for more than just Bruce Wayne’s return to town. It also marked the arrival of one Lieutenant James Gordon to Gotham City. He was met with far less fanfare than Bruce Wayne was, taking the train into the city and being joined by only one detective, Flass, before his meeting with Commissioner Loeb. 

He’d had a bad feeling about the department from the moment he met Flass, and now he knew his first judgement to have been the correct one. After watching the detective brutalize a teenager for no reason other than standing in his line of sight, Jim knew this shouldn’t be the place he was raising his family. Still, he reminded himself that this was his best shot. After what had happened in Chicago, he needed it. His family needed it. And if all this fresh start required of him was that he keep his mouth shut, then he could do that. 

He hoped. 

He was called out to his first crime scene that night. Double homicide, the Narrows. Typrical, according to Flass as they drove their way to the scene. 

Getting out of the car nearly before the car had even stopped, Jim approached the responding officer and asked, “What’ve we got?”

The officer looked young, and a little green. The violence that was so prevalent in Gotham must not have jaded him yet. Jim felt sorry for the poor kid. “We’ve got a double, sir, husband and wife shot in what we think was a botched robbery. James and Eliza Carter, both twenty-four. Husband worked as a handy-man around the city, wife was a store clerk.” 

“Who called 9-1-1?”

“The neighbor, sir. She’s a hooker, was with a john when it happened. Didn’t see the guy before or after. She called the police when she heard the witness screaming.”

“Witness?” Jim was surprised. That hadn’t come through over the radio. He turned to look at Flass, who shrugged in a what-can-you-do type manner. “What witness?”

“Couple’s daughter.” The officer pointed to the crowd of vehicles with flashing lights surrounding the scene. There, in the center, was an ambulance. A small child was sitting in the back, shivering, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Looks like the family interrupted the perp when they came home. Place is ransacked.”

Jim cursed. “How old is she?”

“Five, sir.”

Jim sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Want me to take her statement, Jimmy?” Flass asked.

“No!” Jim said too quickly. Clearing his throat, he said more softly this time, “No. I’ll do it.” 

“Suit yourself.”

He let out one more sigh before steadying himself and making his way over to the ambulance. As he approached, he got a better look at the girl. Her hair was plaited down the back in two neat, black braids, and her green eyes were filled with tears. Her jeans were covered in blood. She looked up as he approached, still shaking. Nodding to the paramedics, he took a seat on the back of the ambulance next to her, careful to leave enough room so as not to frighten her. Scared children were a bit like scared animals, he’d discovered. You had to work to earn their trust. 

“Hi there,” he said gently. She said nothing. “Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?” She mumbled something that he couldn’t entirely make out. “What was that?”

“My name is Meda Carter,” she said, a little louder, with the pride that only little children could show for their own names.

“Meda,” he repeated it to himself. “That’s a beautiful name.” She murmured her thanks, and he had to smile a bit. Even after what she’d seen, she hadn’t forgotten her manners. She must’ve been raised well. “Can you tell me what happened tonight, Meda?”

She was quiet for so long that Jim wondered if she would speak at all, when finally she said, “We were coming home from the movies.”

He waited for more. When none came, he asked, “What movie did you see?”

“Anastasia.”

“Was it good?”

She nodded. “It was sad, but it had a happy ending.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, then lowered his voice. “What happened when you came home?”

Tears flooded her eyes anew and she started to sob. Jim instinctively put an arm around her and pulled her into his side, making soothing motions on her back the way he had with Barbara and James when they were very young. She wept into his chest for a long time, until she seemed to be all cried out and pulled away. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I got tears all over your shirt.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” he told her. “Don’t you worry about a thing. If you’re not ready to talk tonight, we can wait. We can-”

“No,” she said, surprisingly firmly. “You need my help, right? To find the man who hurt my parents?” Her voice quivered, but she met his eyes steadily. 

Jim hesitated. “Yes, we do.”

Nodding, she took a deep breath before beginning. “We were coming home from the movies,” she said again. “When we got home, there was a man standing in our living room. He had a gun in his hand. My daddy went to stand in front of us, and then there was a really loud bang, and he fell to the floor, and then mommy screamed, and she fell to the floor, and he just looked at me and ran out of the room.” She said all this in a rush, as if to get it all out before she dissolved into tears again. 

“That’s great, you’re doing real great, sweetheart.” Jim encouraged her. “Can you tell me what he looked like?”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “He was young. Younger than my daddy, I think.” That was promising. Jim made a mental note of it before turning his attention back to Meda. “He had brown hair, and eyes too I think. I don’t really remember that well.” 

“That’s okay. Just tell me what you can remember.”

“He was tall,” she continued. “And real skinny.”

“How tall? Taller than me?” Jim stood to his full height. 

Meda nodded. “And skinnier than you, too.” 

Jim laughed. Meda didn’t seem to know what it was she’d said that was funny, but she gave a watery smile nonetheless. “Lots of people are. Tell me, was he taller than Detective Flass over there?” He pointed to the tall blonde detective, still speaking with the responding officer. 

She thought about it, before shaking her head. “About the same height, I think.”

“Good. That’s perfect, Meda, you did a wonderful job.” The adrenaline seemed to have drained out of her, and she slumped against his side. 

“Lieutenant Gordon?”

Jim looked up to see a dark-haired woman looking at him expectantly. “I’m with Social Services. If you’re finished with Meda, we’d like to take her for the night, now.” 

Meda started shaking again at the woman’s words, and Jim held up a hand to give him a moment. “Meda,” he said softly. “I’m going to go talk to this woman for a minute, and then we’re going to take care of you, alright? I promise.”

She still looked petrified, but she nodded bravely, and Jim gave her shoulder one last squeeze before getting up and leading the woman a short distance away. Lowering his voice to make sure the little girl couldn’t hear, he asked, “You’re taking her to a group home?” The woman nodded. “She’s just been through a massive trauma. She should be with family.”

“I agree,” the woman said, not unkindly. “But she has no family. We checked. Both parents were only children. Her last grandparent died last year. The Carter’s were very young, and seemed to have lost touch with a lot of their friends. There’s simply no one to take her in.”

“Lieutenant Gordon?”

Jim turned to see an older woman with graying hair and a warm smile standing behind him. “Yes?”

“I’m Dr. Leslie Thompkins. I run the clinic down the street. The Carter’s and their daughter were patients of mine.” When he nodded, she continued on, “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion, and, well…”

“You’d be willing to take her in?” Jim asked hopefully. “Just for now, until we figure something out?”

“Not me, no,” Dr. Thompkins said. She smiled. “I think I know someone even better.”

______________________________________________________________________________

It was clear to even the most sheltered passerby that Bruce Wayne did not belong there. Everything from his salon-styled hair to his designer boots was stood out in this run-down, hopeless place. As he strode through the people in uniform and the paramedics, each one, without fail, stopped to stare. It was a good thing he’d driven his own car. He expected being chauffeured by your butler would’ve made him look even more spoiled and pampered.

He sighed. Another complication.

If he was going to go forward with his crusade, (and he was going forward with it, no matter what scheme Leslie had cooked up to dissuade him), he needed to be someone other than Gotham’s young prince. Too bad he couldn’t figure out what that was.

He pasted the careless smile on his face that he’d been honing to perfection as he made his way past the flashing lights and sirens to the ambulance where the little girl still waited. He turned to one of the officers posted on the street and asked, “Is that her?”

The man gawked at him. “Uh, yes, sir.”

“Great.” Bruce flashed a grin and strolled off towards the child, his careful mask slipping when he caught sight of her knees, painted red. And suddenly he was transported to another night, another street, another child kneeling in a pool of his parents’ blood.

The memories. He couldn’t escape them.

At his approach, the child looked up and stared at him with wide eyes. Whether she was frightened or in awe of him, he couldn’t tell.

“Meda?” he asked gently, getting down on his knees so he could be at her level when talking to her. “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” she cut him off. So she did recognize him, then. “I saw you on the news this morning.”

He gave her a small smile that she didn’t return. “I just got back into town. I heard…I heard that something really bad might’ve happened to you tonight.” She looked down at her feet and didn’t reply. “You know, when I was about your age, just a little bit older, something really bad happened to me, too.” She looked up at him then, head tilted in curiosity. “You see, a very bad man hurt both of my parents, too.” Her eyes widened.

“Did they die, too?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said, ignoring the stab of pain he felt at talking about it. “Dr. Thompkins is a friend of mine. You remember her, right?” She nodded. “She thought…that is, she felt it might be good if you came to stay with me for a while. With someone who understands.” She continued to look at him, face impassive. “You don’t have to, of course. But is that something that might be okay with you?”

“Yes,” she said, surprisingly quickly.

“Are you sure?” he asked, startled by the rapid response and her quick trust in a stranger after what had happened to her. “Because-”

She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, do I?”

Biting his lip, he shook his head. Meda let out one final sob, and looked up at him, her gaze suddenly steady.

“Then yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have a mission,” he said, willing her to understand. “A purpose. I made a promise to my parents that I would rid this city of the evil that took their lives. I was too late for your family, and for that I’m so sorry. But I won’t be too late for the next one."

The ride to the Manor was spent in silence. One of the officers had packed a bag with an assortment of things from the girl’s room, with a promise that they’d be able to come back for the rest once the crime scene had been cleared.The Social Service worker had loaned Bruce an extra car seat, and he’d been able to figure out how to install it with minimal fuss. As they got further and further out of the heart of the city and closer to the Manor, Bruce couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was doing. He knew nothing about caring for a child. He was about to embark on a mission that would very likely get him killed. This was the absolute last thing he should be doing. 

But Leslie had asked. Leslie, whom he owed more than anyone else, save Afred. “Please, Bruce, do this for me,” she’d said. 

And how was he supposed to refuse that?

As they pulled up to the long gravel drive of Wayne Manor, Bruce took another glance in the rearview mirror at Meda. She was no longer shaking or crying, and he figured that the shock had finally set in. He quickly got out of the car and opened her door for her, helping her out of the car seat and grabbing her bag from the seat beside her. He watched as she got her first good look at the mansion, her eyes popping wide and her jaw dropping open. 

“This is where you live?” she asked incredulously. 

He nodded. Mistaking her awe for fear, he said gently, “Don’t be afraid.” 

She looked at him, tilted her chin up defiantly. “I’m not afraid.”

“Alright.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s introduce you to Alfred.”

“Who’s Alfred?”

The man in question was standing in the doorway waiting for them as Bruce led Meda up the steps. Thinking over the question, he told her, “He’s the man who raised me after my parents died.” Alfred’s job would become clear to her later, but for now he settled on the most important truth. “He’ll help take care of you.”

As they approached the doorway, Alfred gave them both a welcoming smile. “Ah, Master Bruce, welcome home. It certainly has been an exciting first day back, hasn’t it?” He turned his attention to the little girl beside Bruce. “And this must be Miss Meda!”

Meda nodded. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, sticking out her little hand for a shake. Alfred took it gently and smiled warmly. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss.” Straightening up, he turned to Bruce. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing one of the guest rooms for this young lady.” He reached out to take the duffel bag from Bruce. “I’ll see to unpacking this as well, while you and our guest warm yourselves by the fire.” With that, he swept up the grand staircase to the second floor and out of sight. 

Bruce gingerly took Meda by the hand and led her into the parlor where Alfred had stoked the fire. She slumped down on one of the sofas, clearly exhausted, but perked up when she seemed to remember something. 

“Why does he call you Master Bruce?” 

Clearing his throat, he decided that honesty was probably the best policy. “Alfred is also the family butler.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I’ve never met anyone who had a butler before.” She shook her head. “He doesn’t have to call me Miss Meda, you know. Just Meda is fine.”

Bruce smiled. “I think you’ll have a hard time convincing him of that. Alfred has always been very formal, you see.” She nodded. Her eyes scanned the room curiously, taking in the opulence and decadence, the dark polished wood and the cool marble of the fireplace. Finally, she looked to the photograph hanging above the mantle. 

“Are those your parents?”

Bruce took a moment to examine the photo, as well. His eight-year-old self stared back at him, grinning happily. His mother and father stood behind him, each with a hand on his shoulder, each beaming with pride. “Yes.”

Meda hummed in acknowledgment. “They look nice.”

“They were,” he said, that pang in his chest back again. “My father was a doctor. My mother did charity work. They were both very good people.”

She sighed. “My parents were very good people, too. The best people. And now they’re gone.” She didn’t sound like she was about to cry again, just empty. Just broken. 

Bruce was quiet for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts before finally saying, “You know, Meda, someone once told me that no one’s ever truly gone unless you forget about them. You won’t forget about your parents, will you?” She shook her head furiously. “Then as long as you’re here, they will be too. I promise. It’s been almost twenty years, and my parents are still with me. Every day.” And yes, he probably took that to the extreme, with his plan for Gotham and its future, but the sentiment remained all the same. 

Meda seemed to contemplate this for a while before Alfred re-entered the room. “Miss Meda’s things have been unpacked and her room is ready for her.”

Bruce nodded. “Thank you, Alfred. I'll show Meda to her room.”

“Very good, sir.”

Standing, he held out a hand to her and waited for her to take it. This time, she gripped his own with a little more force. As they made their way up the stairs and down the long hallway where that led to the bedrooms, her eyes never stopped darting about, taking in all the excess of the Manor with wide eyes. Bruce didn’t blame her. Even he was taken aback by it, sometimes.

Alfred had left the door to the chosen guest room open and left the light on, probably for Meda’s comfort. “Here you are,” Bruce said as they stepped in front of the threshold. Seeing the look of trepidation on her face, Bruce said again, “Don’t be afraid.”

She whipped her head up to stare at him. “Stop saying that,” she commanded.

“Okay,” he agreed. 

“I’m not afraid.”

“Okay.” 

With that, she took one last look at him before entering the room and closing the door behind her.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
Meda stared in shock at the room in front of her. It was bigger than her whole apartment back home, and she didn’t know how she was supposed to climb up onto the canopied bed. There was a window seat, which she had always wanted, and the walls were a pale purple. The largest TV she’d ever seen was set against the far wall.

Alfred had laid out her pajamas on the bed, and as she changed, she ran her hands over the pretty silver sheets. When she was done, she struggled for a moment to climb onto the bed, but eventually made it. Pulling back the covers, she nestled into the bed and curled up comfortably. 

She thought that she would be kept awake, by thoughts of her parents, by worries over the new strangers in her life, by the sound of the wind howling in the trees outside her window. In the end, the day’s events proved so exhausting that as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was asleep. 

It was the last night she’d sleep peacefully for a long time.  
______________________________________________________________________________

When she awoke the next morning, sunlight was shining through her window, and it took her a moment to realize where she was. The previous day’s events came rushing back to her in a flood of memories. She fought back the tears that formed and refused to cry. She’d cried enough yesterday, all over poor Lieutenant Gordon. If they thought she was a crybaby, then Mr. Wayne and Alfred might not want her to stick around. Besides, her mom had always said she was a brave girl. She wouldn’t let her down now. 

The smell of something cooking penetrated her cocoon of blankets, and Meda peeked her head out. She thought about waiting for someone to come get her, but curiosity got the best of her, and she followed the scent down the hall and down a staircase (different from the grand one that had led up from the entryway) into a kitchen. It was the largest kitchen she’d ever seen, and looked like it could cook enough food for several hundred people, maybe even a thousand. At one of the stovetops with an apron on was Alfred. He was pouring batter into a pan and already had a stack of pancakes next to him on a plate. Mr. Wayne was sitting at the counter in the middle of the room, reading a newspaper. 

He looked up when she entered the room. “Ah, Meda!” he said, and she thought he sounded pleased to see her. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”

Alfred turned to smile at her. “Good morning, Miss Meda. I hope you like chocolate chip pancakes.”

Meda gasped. “Those are my favorite!”

“Are they?” Alfred raised a brow. “How wonderful. You just pull up a seat next to Master Bruce there and I’ll have these ready for you in a moment.” 

She climbed up onto the chair at the counter next to Bruce. Turning to her, he asked, “Did you sleep well?” She nodded. “Good.” Putting his paper down, he turned to her more fully and said gently, “I got a call from Mrs. Parker at Social Services. Some of your parents’ friends from high school have offered to help plan the funeral, but they were hoping to get your input. You know, to help pick out what songs they’ll play and what type of flowers they should have. Does that sound like something you’d be up to?” When she hesitated, he quickly said, “There’s no rush. You don’t have to meet with them today. Would you like to think about it?” She nodded, and he smiled. “Take all the time you need.” 

Alfred was finished with the pancakes by then, and placed them on a plate in front of her. Stacked high and drizzled with syrup, the sight of them made Meda’s mouth water. Grabbing her fork and knife, she started to dig in, before remembering herself. “Thank you very much, Alfred.” She then popped a piece of pancake in her mouth and chewed greedily. 

Bruce looked amused. “Don’t need any help cutting those, huh?”

Meda shook her head vigorously. “Daddy taught me how to do it. He says that you can come from dirt, but if you know how to eat right, people will never know it.”

“He sounds like a smart man.”

“He’s the smartest man in the world.” She paused, then corrected in a small voice, “Was. He was the smartest man in the world.”

Alfred smiled sadly and said, “He’d be very proud of you Miss Meda. Your table manners are better than Master Bruce’s by far. He eats like an animal, this one.” Bruce gave Alfred a pointed look, but stopped when he heard Meda start to giggle. 

Wiping off his hands on a dish towel, Alfred then said, “When you’re done, Miss, why don’t we take a tour of the rest of the house. You didn’t get to see much of it last night, and besides, it’s far more beautiful in the daytime.” Meda beamed and nodded, before turning to Bruce with a confused look. 

“Aren’t you going to eat, Mr. Wayne?” she asked between mouthfuls (she remembered her manners, after all). 

“Just call me Bruce, Meda, please. And I already ate. I’m on a bit of a...special diet, you see.” He gave her a close-lipped smile, and she had a funny feeling that he wasn’t saying something important, but she didn’t want to be rude by asking so she stayed quiet and finished her pancakes. 

When she was done, she was so full that she swore she’d never eat another bite. Bruce had chuckled at this, saying, “You say that now, but just wait until you get a taste of Alfred’s lasagna. You’ll find room, trust me.” Alfred had just winked at her.  
______________________________________________________________________________

It had been a long time since Alfred Pennyworth had had anyone to cook for, and in just one day, he’d received not one, but two charges to look after, and he intended to take his duties seriously. His father had served the Wayne’s before him, and their families would be forever linked. Master Bruce wasn’t the only one with a legacy to protect, after all. 

His youngest charge seemed just as taken with the Manor as any child would be, fascinated by the seemingly never-ending corridors lined with doors that opened to all different types of rooms. She gaped at the indoor swimming pool, the game room, the movie theater. 

But it was his favorite room that received the largest reaction. The library. A massive room lined with bookshelves several stories high, with tables and couches for reading or relaxing and artifacts from all over the world. 

“I’ve never seen so many books in my life!” she declared, and Alfred suppressed a chuckle, refraining from pointing out that given her life had only spanned half a decade so far, it was likely there were many things she’d not seen. 

Children did not like to be reminded of their inexperience, he’d found. 

She turned to Bruce with wide eyes. “Have you read all of them?” 

Bruce laughed. “Not quite. I’m afraid there’s more books here than even I could read in a lifetime. You like to read?” Meda nodded. 

“I was the first one in my class to start chapter books,” she announced proudly. “Do you have Charlotte’s Web?”

“Of course,” Alfred said, moving to the section of the library that held children’s books. It was the smallest section, but still likely larger than any school library in the country. He scanned the titles for a moment, before selecting a small book with a girl holding a pig on the cover. “This was one of Master Bruce’s favorites when he was a young boy,” he said, handing it to her. 

“It’s one of my favorites, too,” she said quietly, looking down at the cover. “Mrs. Jones was reading it to us before Christmas break, but I got a copy from the library and read ahead to finish it. I had to give it back before break, though.”

“Well,” Bruce said. “Feel free to keep this one as long as you like.”

Meda’s eyes widened again. “Really? You mean it?”

“I really mean it,” Bruce replied, smiling. 

The little girl squealed in delight and rushed forward to hug Bruce, who stiffened in surprise. Alfred had to stifle a laugh again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Meda cried. Bruce relaxed after a moment, patting the child on the back gently. 

“You’re very welcome, Meda,” he replied softly.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, after Meda had gone to bed, Bruce and Alfred sat in one of the sitting rooms, both contemplating the child sleeping upstairs. Alfred was personally hoping that this new responsibility would encourage Bruce to leave off his mad idea and settle down to a quieter, simpler life. Bruce was already thinking of ways to make sure the danger of his chosen crusade didn’t harm Meda. 

“She seems to be settling in rather well, sir,” Alfred said, pouring a cup of tea for himself. 

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement. “She’s still in shock. It’ll wear off eventually, and then she’ll start to spiral. The social worker gave me a number for a psychologist. We should make sure she gets in soon.”

“How uncharacteristically reasonable of you, sir,” Alfred said dryly.

Bruce ignored him. “I need-” He was cut off by a blood curdling scream. 

The men looked at each other for a split second, before they both sprung into action. Alfred moved to retrieve one of his firearms from a safe behind a photograph on the wall, while Bruce took off in a run towards Meda’s room. 

Throwing open the door the second he reached it, his eyes frantically scanned the room for a threat, but found nothing. Moving his gaze over to the bed, he saw Meda thrashing in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut and screaming. 

A nightmare. 

Bruce’s stance softened and he moved towards the bed, slowly, carefully. “Meda,” he said, reaching for her shoulder to gentle her awake. “Meda!” Her eyes flew open and with one last cry of despair, she bolted upright in bed and stared at him. 

She stared at him for a moment, breathing heavily, and then burst into tears. 

Bruce was at a loss for what to do for a moment, before deciding to go on instinct and pull the little girl to his chest, letting her cry into his shoulder. He murmured nonsense to her, telling her everything would be okay and not to be afraid. That seemed to stir something in her, and she pulled back with a yelp. 

“But I am afraid,” she cried, wiping at her tears. “I’m so afraid. I’m afraid that they won’t find the bad man, and that he’ll come back for me or you or Alfred.” 

Bruce was silent for a minute, before taking her hands in his and saying urgently, “Meda, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that for me?” When she nodded, he continued on, “I have spent a very long time training for something very important. I’m going to make sure that what happened to our families never happens to anyone else again.”

“How can you do that?”

“I have a mission,” he said, willing her to understand. “A purpose. I made a promise to my parents that I would rid this city of the evil that took their lives. I was too late for your family, and for that I’m so sorry. But I won’t be too late for the next one. Do you understand?”

Warily, she nodded. “I think so.”

Sighing in relief, he went on, “I need you to promise to keep this a secret.” He realized he was a fool for placing the secrecy of his mission in the hands of one five year old girl, but he had to say something. He had to show her that she didn’t have to be afraid. “If other people knew about this, they would try to stop me, or they would try to go after you or Alfred to get to me. It’s very, very important that you never tell anyone about what I’ve just told you, do you understand?” She nodded again, looking at him strangely. “What is it?”

“It’s just-” she cut herself off, biting her lip. “I was just wondering if I could help you. With your mission, I mean.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, to insist that she needn’t worry at all about that, when an idea struck him. 

“Actually, Meda, I think there might be a way that you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, Chapter Two is up! Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos, commented, and bookmarked, it means the world to me! Just a quick note: this follows the events of Batman: Year One, but some liberties have been taken (like aging up James Gordon, Jr. for example. The dates are also going to be a but different, and the timeline will be condensed, with the events taking place over seven or eight months as opposed to a full year. This just helps keep my timeline straight, as I have big plans for this story! I hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to comment, it really does make my day!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there and thank you so much for taking the time to read my story! Just a few things to keep in mind while reading.
> 
> 1\. For the purposes of this story, I've aged James Gordon, Jr. from an infant to about eight years old. I have a very firm timeline for this story, and this is something that just made it work better. 
> 
> 2\. In this story, Barbara Gordon is James Gordon's biological daughter. 
> 
> 3\. I got the math wrong, so I'm just pretending that Anastasia came out in 1998 because I really like that theme for this story. Meda was born in 1993, which would've made her five in 1998. 
> 
> 4\. Right now, the story contains elements from Batman: Year One, as well as Catwoman: Her Sister's Keeper and Batman Annual 13: Waiting in the Wings, if you want to read along.
> 
> Next up is Meda's first introduction to Alfred and the Manor, so stay tuned for that!
> 
> Comments make my day so please drop one if you enjoy this story!


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